Damn These Walls
by DaniiButNotBeck
Summary: "Oh lights go down/In the moment we're lost and found/ I just wanna be by your side/ If these wings could fly/For the rest of our lives" - Birdy, "Wings"


Title: Damn These Walls

Pairing: Alex Cabot/Olivia Benson

Rating: K+

Author's Note: As always, these characters aren't mine. They belong to Dick Wolf and NBC.

Author's Note 2: This fic is really weird. Be warned.

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><p><em>A tragic accident<em>, the voices say.

_Far too young._

_Taken from the world unjustly._

_Imagine how her mother must be feeling._

The words are whispered over cups of coffee with sympathetic looks directed at her mother. You hide in the living room, making yourself as small as possible with the hope that they won't find you. But they do – of course they do.

_Lost her best friend at just sixteen._

_Walked away with nothing but a broken arm._

_She must be thanking her guardian angel right about now._

They say more, of course, but nothing you can bear to listen to; they're just sympathies for the survivor after all.

_No._

You shake your head. They care about you, just like they cared – care – about her. It's just the survivor's guilt talking.

You accept their _I'm-sorry-for-your-loss_'s with a tight-lipped smile, and hide yourself away in her bedroom, closing the door and keeping the light off to deter unwanted visitors.

The rapidly-setting sun illuminates the room just enough for you to see that everything is the way she left it that morning – her unmade bed, the laptop sitting on her desk, laced-up running shoes discarded on the floor, her favorite sweatshirt hung up on the hook behind the door.

You run you hand over the sweatshirt's soft material. If only she had just gone back in and grabbed it…

No.

You breathe out slowly. No, you cannot allow yourself to think like that.

But it's true though, isn't it?

If she had just gone back into her apartment and grabbed that damn sweatshirt, she'd still be alive.

But she's not.

You lie on her bed, tangling yourself in the blankets that are cold – _so cold _– and holding her pillow against your face. You breathe in deep, relishing in the smell of her shampoo.

Everyone assumes the two of you were just friends – best friends, but _just friends_. But the reality of it is your relationship was so much deeper than that.

You were in love with that girl. You _are _in love with that girl. And you're in love with everything you could've been in the future. But life had different plans for you and now she's dead.

You turn onto your back, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark star-shaped stickers on her ceiling, and say, "You know, Liv, I always pictured us getting married and growing old together."

"So did I," her voice says.

You bolt upright, looking across the room. There she is, leaning against her door with that godforsaken smirk firmly in place. You stare at her, mouth agape, until you can finally form sounds that come out as words rather than just sounds. "You're dead." Well, no one ever said they were tactful words.

She shrugs, smirk still firmly in place. "It appears I have some unfinished business here."

"So you're a ghost?"

"I believe that's what they call us." Her smirk fades as she walks – floats? – toward you, turning to a concerned frown. "I saw you at my funeral this morning. Why were you standing in the back?"

You shrug, looking down at your hands. "I didn't think your mom wanted me anywhere near her. It's my fault you died."

She places her hand on your shoulder and you can feel a slight tingling sensation where it lies. "She doesn't blame you, Al."

"She should. If I hadn't been rushing you…"

"You weren't driving the car, Al. It was just shit luck."

You stand and push your hand through your hair. "Are you here to absolve me of my blame or something? Because if you are, you're going to be stuck here a while."

That's not why I'm here," she says, looking down at her hands. "I'm here to close things up with you."

You laugh mirthlessly. "I don't even know what that means."

She stands and walks – floats? – toward you, stopping directly in front of you. She reaches out and takes hold of your hands. Or you suppose that's what she's doing; she's not corporeal enough for you to truly feel it, but you feel the strange tingling nonetheless. "I'm in love with you, Alex Cabot. I know I didn't really get a chance to say it when I was alive, but I'm getting that chance now, so…I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you." She smiles her crooked smile, setting your heart all aflutter. "I love you."

"I love _you_."

She leans forward and your eyes close, and then the tingling is on your lips and maybe this is all a weird dream, but you can't bring yourself to care. You keep your eyes closed until long after the tingling fades, and when you open them, there is a bright blue light on the ceiling.

"That's for me," she says, looking upward.

You nod, swallowing hard. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too," she says, "but we'll see each other again. Hopefully not for a long time, but we will."

The blue light glows brighter, pulling her up toward it.

"Take care of yourself, Alex, okay?"

"Okay," you say. "I love you."

She grins down at you. "And I you."

She disappears with the light and you sit on the edge of her bed, looking down at your hands, and then you smile. _Everything is going to be okay_, you think. You're going to be okay.

_End_


End file.
